“I don’t know, dear, I think they are in Liverpool.”
“Whose orphans are they, mamma?”
“They are the orphans of sailors, dear.”
“What kind of sailors, mamma?”
“British sailors, darling.”
“Aren’t there any sailors in America, mamma?”
“Oh yes, dear, lots of them.”
“And do they have any orphans?”
“Yes, dear, I suppose there are orphans there too.”
“And don’t they get any of the money, mamma?”